Hell Is A Place On Earth
by Nadja Lee
Summary: Some murders have been committed and Logan has to find out who did it. Was it one of the X-men?


Hell Is A Place On Earth                                 

By Nadja Lee                                     

English is not my native language. Please forgive me my mistakes.

Disclaimer: "X-men" and all the characters here belong to Marvel, 20 Century Fox and I intend no infringement, this is a piece of amateur fan fiction, and I make no money of it.

Only the original idea contained within this work is the property of the author. Please do not copy this story to any website or archive without permission of the author.

Timeline: Set in the movie universe. After the movie.    

Universe: Set in the movie universe; NOT the book which goes with it.

Romance: None really

Summary: Someone thinks about some murders that have been happening. Who did it and why?

Archiving: Want, ASK, take,  have.

Feedback: Yes, please. It means so much to me.

Rating: R. Disturbing elements. 

Sequel/series: Nope

Special thanks to Jemisard. Lov you, babe!

Dedicated to Sorcieré with love. Now, no more plotbunnies, you hear, hon? *LOL* Hope you like

Part 1:

There's a lot of shit happening in the world. People die every day…Hell, they die every second. Why did I find these deaths so interesting? Looking back I guess it was the cold calculation in them. When I kill I kill on impulse, in rage, in an instant. I kill the moment I feel someone has threatened me or what I love. But not this man. No, he had waited years for his revenge, planned it down to the last detail with a coldness that surprised even me. 

I read about the first murder before I came back. "Calculated murder in New York" the headline read. Curious I read the article. It was the calculation in it all that fascinated me. The way the murderer had known every detail about his victim's routine, everything from what brand of tobacco he smoked to when he normally let out the cat.  The article didn't say much in respect for the investigation but I knew they wouldn't catch this guy unless he wanted to be caught and I wasn't all that sure that he wanted that. His mind was definitely twisted and dark but he was anything but stupid. 

Three months after the first murder another happened. It was planned as carefully as the first and now I began to get really into the investigation. Both victims had been males in their late 40s, they had been from the middleclass and others described them as 'good people', which crudely translates into 'I only know things about them that they want me to know'. That it was a personal vengeance was clear; both men had after their deaths had their sexual organs removed in a remarkable sterile way. The bodies had been laid neatly on their bed, their hands folded over their chest and their eyes closed. The victims had been killed with a knife through the heart; quick and easy. The murderer had left the scene as clean as he had entered it; no fingerprints had been found, no footprints, the blood had been washed away and no witnesses had seen anything. If there was a perfect crime – this was it. 

After the third murder with the same memo I began to do a little research of my own. I quickly found that none of the men were as 'good people' as it had been claimed. They had all had a sick fascination for young boys and after some questioning in the part of town no decent person would want to be caught dead in, I found that they also all fancied pain. All in all sick bastards who deserved their fate. But my thoughts went to the murderer; that he had been one of their victims I had no doubt but I was still clueless as to his identity. 

It was the fifth and last murder that made all the pieces fit together. The memo was the same but the victim wasn't from the middleclass but from the working-class. He was known for his hot temper and for having control over several boys and I didn't need to ask what they did at night for it was plain that it was anything but sleeping. Again the murder itself was calculated, emotionless as always…but now I could connect the victims. And I found the piece I had been missing. Of all the boys who had reason, and in my opinion also right, to kill these fuckers who was smart enough, calculated enough…had suffered for longer than any other to bear such deep hatred pull this off? The answer came as I found out the last victim had been guardian for a young boy and not just any boy. For a long time after I had figured it all out I sat in total disbelief. I just couldn't believe it. The answer had been right in front of me the whole time yet I had been too blind to see it. The planning, the cunning, and the coldness…it all added up. I should have seen it but like everyone else…I had been conned by his appearance, by his act. I now know that he could have killed me anytime he pleased and he would have had no trouble doing so. 

Of all the people I've met he's definitely the most screwed up, even more so than me. But now I see it all so clearly, why he always seemed so distant, why he closed off to any real emotions - he needed that distance and coldness to carry out what he had been planning for years. 

Four days after that fifth murder I went to the garage and found him working on his bike. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry when I saw his nonchalant way of looking briefly up when I entered the room. Now I can better understand why I never smelled fear on him. A man like he doesn't fear death. Hell, I doubt he fears anything at all. To fear something you need to have something to lose and he has already lost everything. There is nothing left to give. 

I cleared my throat and he looked up at me. Something in my eyes must have given me away for he stood up.

"So, you know?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"The last two days."

"So, what are you going to do?" 

The fact that his hand had moved upwards wasn't missed on me.

"Nothin'. Just tell me this much…was it worth it? Did you get back what they have taken from you?" I asked softly.

"No. But it made me feel better. At least for a little while," he admitted lowly but his voice had an edge of steel and I knew that for the first time I was talking to the real him and not the illusion he had created. 

"You better leave. It can't be long before they figure it out," I warned and he nodded and got on his bike.

"Thanks…Logan," he said and gave me his hand. I knew that that word when given from the real him as this one was meant a lot so I accepted his hand.

"Don't mention it. Just…try and find peace of mind," I said and he gave a sad kind of smile and drove off. 

When the police came by the next day I was never in doubt about my answer when they asked:  
"Have you seen Scott Summers?"

I shook my head and simply said:  
"Never heard of 'im," and with a silent wish for the best for a man I never really knew I walked away.

The End


End file.
